When You Come Home
by Eisee does it
Summary: Post Deadlock fic. The truth behind Bumblebee's parentage surfaces. Optimus may have won the war, but at a price he fears he may not afford. Megatron/Optimus. Smokescreen/Bee. Mpreg.
1. Chapter 1

Title: When You Come Home

Author: Eiseedoesit

Rating: PG13

Summary: Post Deadlock fic. The truth behind Bumblebee's parentage surfaces. Optimus may have won the war, but at a price he fears he may not afford. Megatron/Optimus. Smokescreen/Bee

A/N: This is for the enablers in my life, Andromeda-Danger, Jeegoo, and Kem. May your fics be many and frustrations be few.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

His strong pedals pressed cautiously against the cracked earth, the cold dust floating up like ashes against his frame.

Optimus, the last of the Primes and restorer of Cybertron gazed up at the immense fortress looming over him. The walls were dark and jagged from the wears of war and time, the surface a mash of metal and stone, all of it lifeless and cold. The stench that filled his olfactory sensors was of grime, rust, and decay. And sadly, it wasn't that much different than the last time he saw it. The only thing that separated the past and present for him was the terrible silence. Last time he saw the fortress at the base of Iacon, the world was screaming as it burned and ripped apart. Now it was simply desolate, haunted.

"Primus," Optimus whispered, "Has it been this long?"

The Prime, despite the weight and strength of his armor, felt incredibly frail beneath the shadow of the fortress. In the late twilight hours, the jagged structure appeared like a gigantic beast, its vicious jaws open and ready to engulf him.

Alone he walked through the ruins. The darkness of night gathered above him, the solitude unnerving and surreal. Yes, the world was restored, but it would take time to replenish and heal. And it seemed like all his life, he'd done nothing but wait. Wait and hope and fight. But even in victory peace still eluded him.

Each step in that lonely wasteland grew heavier, as if his pedals were magnetized to the ground. Upon their return to Cybertron, Optimus had no time to rest. Nomadic groups of Cybertronians had already begun to settle on the planet once more. And, as was expected, none of them wished to leave the side of their Prime. They were skeptical, fearful at first. But when they realized that the Decepticons were all but crushed and their home was truly healing, they hailed Optimus as Primus reborn.

Their praises gave no joy to him.

He was grateful for Bulkhead's insistence that the returning bots begin rebuilding immediately, while the world still flowed with energy and light. It gave them something to occupy their time with, something to distract them from following every step their Prime took. The others were eager to comply. And Optimus took the short bit of freedom to return to a place he once believed he would never step out of alive. Or at the very least, sane.

He walked the twisted paths, down to the lower levels of the mangled city. As beautiful and seemingly flawless Iacon appeared in ages past, it wasn't without its measure of ugliness.

"There were beggars here. Defective mechs. Orphans. " Optimus remembered, "I knew this place well."

The Prime turned a corner and followed the broken steps further into the slums of the city. The tattered walls and flickering glyphs advertising all sorts of services lit up the darkness in a sick, red hue. The narrow walls on each side of the path shrunk even tighter, leading him to a grey wreckage at the end of the path.

The walls were blasted to the side, but the red door was still there, barely hanging onto the frame.

Optimus' optics shone brightly in the dark. His body shook, and his spark began to wane. And as the cold, crisp wind blew through the slums, his neural sensors triggered a barrage of memories. The tears, which he thought had long since been spent, seeped from his optics.

And for a few minutes, the majesty of his rank and title was forgotten. He was Orion Pax once more. Terrified, shivering, and desperate, servos clasped over an unborn child he could not keep.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Orion Pax could not keep his optics away from the medic's servos. They were old, rusty, and caked with dried energon from Primus-knows how many other patients before him. He turned his attention elsewhere, but dusty lights above him were nauseating, and the rusted tools on the medical tray only made his spark falter.

He felt sick. The strong impulse to chuck out the bile in his throat threatened to send him bolting from the med berth. But he forced himself to remain still. To hold his intakes. To finally go through with what had to be done.

There was no other option. It would be selfish to keep it. Foolish. Dangerous.

"Just waiting on these scans," The old medic croaked, "Then it'll be out. And you'll be out."

He rolled a strange device through Orion's abdominal plating without warning. The contact shocked him lightly, the electrical feed prodding his neural sensors for the placement of the sparkling.

His audios picked up the soft clicking of the outdated machines, the dull humming of the device and the medic's heavy breaths. Orion flinched when the device stung the edge of his plating. He felt a flutter deep inside him. The sensation had been increasing in both frequency and intensity for the last few cycles. Orion didn't know how to feel about it.

The scanner beeped and flickered out, and data began to slowly creep onto the monitor.

The medic turned away and poured purple liquid over the assorted medical tools to somewhat cleanse them. The scent was foul, and sharp to the olfactory sensors, the stench burning all the way down to the base of Orion's throat.

The old medbot scraped the twisted pliers and scalpels along the edge of the med tray to get the crusted bits off. The sound made Orion's body shiver in fear, knowing that those things would soon be working inside him.

The strange flutters began again, more furiously this time, moving up Orion's abdominal plates quickly.

His spark surged at the motion. With optics wide and bright he sat up from the med berth, his servo nearly knocking the device off of him.

"How much longer will it be?" Orion asked, his spark racing as the movements within him continued even after the device was thrown aside, "And what does that thing do to me?"

"That?" The medic grumbled, "Does nothing except gather images of the sparkling. Doesn't bother you a bit. As for how long it'll be…well, youngling, it's not always clear cut. It takes time."

"Which I can't afford," Orion said, the movements went on, deeper and stronger. The tears seeped from his optics. Why won't it just stop?

"Sir—" Orion sighed and wiped the tears from his face. He was grateful no one was there to see him. He wouldn't have to put up a strong front. He didn't need to play the part of a Prime. He could be himself here. He could be weak. Cry.

"Sir—" Orion continued, slowly swinging his legs to the side of the med berth, "I don't think I can—"

"Well, ya really can't anymore kid," The medic turned the monitor towards him, and tapped the scratched screen with a scalpel, "Not unless you want half your spark to go along with it."

Orion stared at the screen with tear-stained optics. All words lost to him.

"The sparkling's too far along now to terminate safely."

The data clerk felt the fluttering sensation again. This time his spark ached, knowing for certain, feeling for certain the life encased within.

"You know if you didn't keep changing your mind and postponing the procedure each time you came here you won't be stuck with this right now. Looks like the little bugger made the choice for you." The medic, oblivious to his patient's distraught aura, simply tossed the tools back into the tray and began to make copies of the scan.

Orion blinked, a million fears wrecking his processor when the medic shoved a copy of the report to his shaking servo.

Orion looked down, his processor trying to register the images and data presented to him. The report was barely legible, the glyphs slightly skewed. The pictograph of the sparkling inside his frame was deceptively small, the little one curled up beneath his spark. The image was blurred, but even then it was clear the sparkling was already formed. Two arms, two legs, a torso, and helm. And a tiny blue dot that indicated an active spark…

"Primus," Orion cried, wanting to rip apart the report in denial, "This can't happen—"

_I can't keep it. Megatronus will know. The Council will know. Oh Primus why?_

The carrying mech cried into his servos, his spark suddenly bounding as the sparkling sensed its mother's distress. He tried to ignore it, but the carrier protocols could not dismiss the sparkling's attempts to bond.

Orion crushed the report in one servo while the other rested against the top of his belly, beneath his spark. The sparkling was there, scared, restless, seeking comfort. Orion's tears flowed even harder.

"Congratulations by the way," The medic smirked and pointed to the outline of the sparkling's spark chamber on the monitor. Orion looked up long enough to see the tell-tale sign. A six point spark chamber.

"You have a little mech."

_An heir to the dynasty_

_Another way for Megatronus to hurt me_

_Another thing I might love only to be taken away _

_A sparkling_

_A son_

"This can't happen," Orion whispered, shaking his helm. But it did. He allowed his spark to finally reach out to comfort the shaking sparkling within. The little one crawled up, curling himself beneath his carrier's warm light.

"Primus," Orion prayed gently. He felt his spark wrap his child in warmth, "You have given me a title and a child to bear. Please…please give me strength to carry them both. I cannot do this alone."

No answer came but the soft flutter within, and the sweet pulses of his son resounding through their new bond.

The little one wanted to calm him, comfort him. For the first time since he found out he was carrying, Orion allowed himself to image what the sparkling would look like. He imaged the child looking up at him with bright blue optics, helm titled to the side with an expression that said 'Who's bothering you carrier? Let me at them!'

The thought made Orion laugh and cry all at once.

OOOOOOOOOOO

The memory of it pained him now.

Optimus looked down, unaware that his servo had placed itself over his abdominal plating. He felt empty, in more ways than he wanted to admit.

The red door quietly swung by its hinged, disturbed by his movements as he walked back up the path and out of the slums. The walk out of the dank, murky place seemed eternal. As he reached the upper levels, Optimus shuddered at the sheer size of the fortress. He recalled the siege upon Iacon, the memories of it burned into his circuitry. How they barricaded the levels of the city with broken machines and bodies. How the injured were left to die at the gates. How Megatron's forces decimated Iacon's greatest armies.

And how in the midst of death and hate, by a miracle of Primus, he first held his sickly sparkling in his arms.

OOOOOOOOOO

Orion's screams were lost in the sounds of war.

"Almost there. You're doing good. Just stay awake. Stay with us," The red and white field medic instructed, glancing up to reassure the carrying mech. He was positioned right at Orion's middle, one servo carefully at the entrance of Orion's valve while the other one pressed down against the clerk's bulging abdomen, trying to coax the little one to come out.

"R—Ratchet. It hurts. I can't—" Orion slumped against Ultra Magnus, the much bigger mech lifting him up from the back. The laboring mech's perspiring armor was hot and slick, making it difficult for the commander to sustain a hold before needing to readjust.

"You can," Ultra Magnus said, "Just lean against me. Focus on the sparkling. I'll hold you up."

Orion screamed as another contraction rolled through his neural net. His servos grabbed onto Magnus, the force of his grip denting the metal.

"Scrap!" The medic cursed as the lights flickered out. He snapped on his headlights to inspect the sparkling's descent. The roars of heavy gun fire waged outside. Ironhide and Arcee were out there, heading the defense of their fortress against the on-coming surge of Con troops. The ground rumbled violently beneath them, and Orion felt the earth suddenly shift. Another EMP bomb had struck against the once-formidable walls.

"Magnus—Magnus please," Orion babbled. Both their pedals were slipping on the floor slick with energon from the countless wounded and dead that were dragged through the gateway.

The commander of the Wreckers nodded and held him up.

"C'mon Ratchet, get that kid out. Now. We can't stay here much longer."

"You think I don't know that?" The medic grumbled. He pressed his servo down on Orion's belly, optics focused, "Come on little one. Your poor carrier can't wait any longer."

Orion's optics were soaked from tears. The energon and birth fluids that had already seeped between his legs were cooling now. It felt like hours since the first the contraction hit, hours since he was barricaded in the fortress with Magnus holding him up and Ratchet trying every method available to safely bring out the sparkling.

And the sounds of battle and death waged outside. And in his delirious state, Orion swore he heard Megatron's voice shouting for him. And now there was no more light, no medical equipment, not even a monitor to see the sparkling's progress. Orion did not know how much more he could take.

"Ratchet," Orion's whisper was faint, weak, his vocals overheated from his pained screams, "My sparkling—"

"He'll be fine." The medic said, although his panicked state said otherwise, "I've my servos here ready to catch him."

"I—I can't feel him anymore," Orion cried, his intakes ragged, his body shook, "Why can't I feel him? Ratchet please—"

The medic smiled at the news.

"Magnus, get ready, he's going to need all the strength you can give him," Ratchet's thick digits traced the slippery lining of the carrier's valve, "Orion, get ready to push. That absence you felt was the sparkling detaching, he's coming down!"

Orion didn't need more prompts. He convulsed, the channels within him pushing down instinctively as he felt the sparkling's weight shift downwards. His valve stretched out, the pain of it burning as fresh fluids poured from him. The mixture stained his legs, spilling out to the already filthy floor.

He felt unable to push again, his strength waning.

"The helm—It's right here, it's almost out." Ratchet said, "Push Orion. Push!"

The carrier screamed and twisted his body, his body trembling as he felt weight leave him. Shrill whimpers and chirps filled the dark room. Orion's spark flared at the sound, aching to soothe it.

"I got him. He's out." Ratchet shouted, his voice filled with relief as he glanced up at the exhausted carrier.

Ultra Magnus sunk to the corner of the room and pulled Orion to rest between his legs. The afterbirth dragged and broke into chunks along the way, but no one seemed bothered, least of all Orion Pax.

"Whoa, easy there kiddo," Ratchet scolded the sparkling gently, "I'm getting you to your carrier. Take it easy now."

The sparkling's whirls snapped back at the medic, impatience readily noted.

"He's a feisty one, Orion," Ratchet said, kneeling beside the tired carrier, "But here, see for yourself."

The medic placed the sparkling within Orion's outstretched arms. With trembling optics, Orion looked down at the tiny creature, spark both soaring and aching as he saw his creation for the first time.

He was unbelievably small. His voice shrill, his little arms crossed over his chassis as he shivered. His legs kicked against Orion's hold, so short and thin it had to be a defect. The sparkling's helm felt soft against Orion's armor, as if even a gentle touch would crush it in. The sparkling's coloring, disturbed Orion the most. Out of all the time he spent thinking of how his son would appear, he never imagined this—

"His colors—and his armor—" Orion gently caressed the frail body, "He doesn't look like me. Nor like his sire."

Ratchet put a servo on Orion's shoulder.

"I will not lie to you Orion," The medic said, "Your separation from his sire took a toll. All this stress, this war, and the fragging pressure from the council…you could barely attend to yourself. The sparkling suffered with you. He's underdeveloped. The yellow coloring indicates a lack of proper…attention from the sire."

"This is my fault then," Orion said, "Why my son is like this?"

"No," Ratchet shook his helm, "Don't do that to yourself Orion. There was nothing more you could have done."

Orion did not believe him.

The sparkling wailed from lack of warmth, kneading his little yellow and black servos against Orion's armor in an attempt to get back inside. Orion lifted the child to rest on top of his chassis. The sparkling's optics flickered, sickly and timid, registering the face of his mother for the first time.

Orion felt his spark surging as his son's blue optics stared back at him. So wide, bright, and perfect.

The sparkling curled against the comforting hum of his carrier's spark, recognizing the familiar tune.

_**BeeeeBeeeeeeBurrrrrbbbleeeeBeeeee**_The sparkling grabbled as he lulled into recharge _**Burrrbellleeebeee **_

Orion smiled, wrapping a servo beneath his son to keep him from falling off as the tiny body went lax from sleep.

"I didn't ask for you, little one," Orion whispered, "But I love you all the same."

The ground shook again, the war outside shattering the brief moment of peace.

"I'm sorry," Orion said as he turned away, his tears flowing down once more, "I'm so, so, sorry—"

The sparkling only chirped contently in his sleep, kneading his servos against his mother's chassis.

Orion's spark nearly burst from grief, knowing that he had just sentenced both himself and his child to a lifetime of lies and secrets.

"Magnus," Orion said, his mind and spark determined, "Contact the remaining Council members."

"I said you did not want them to know of the birth—"

"It isn't that," Orion said, "The Matrix."

Both Wrecker and medic were stunned by his next words.

"Tell them I accept it."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Optimus allowed the memories to fade for the moment. Dwelling on the past could not help him now. If anything, it would only heighten the pain.

He wiped his optics, frustrated at how easily those tears flowed again. It had been ages since then. But time didn't dull the emotions triggered by stepping through Iacon again.

A crackle, the motion of small debris falling behind him caused his sensors to snap.

On reflex he swung around, the Star Saber glowing fiercely in the dark.

"Whoa! It's just me Prime," Smokescreen's shocked face was pale and blue against the light of the sword. He held his servos up in surrender, "Uh, I was just—okay I was following you. I was following Bumblebee but he um kinda blew me off. Uh—"

"Is there anything of substance you wish you say, Smokescreen?" The words were harsher than intended. Smokescreen shrunk back a bit. But as was his nature, he just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

"I may be wrong here sir but, you don't look that great. I mean, you always look great but you don't seem um—all there? Not to say that anything's missing it's just—Bumblebee doesn't seem doing that well either. Is anything wrong? Anything I can do to help?"

The young mech's words slowly died out as Optimus stared him down.

"Yes sir," Smokescreen said, finally taking the silent order, "Leaving now sir. Enjoy the scenery."

Smokescreen immediately wanted to shot himself through the pedals for saying such a stupid line. He was mid-way into transforming to his alt mode when Optimus spoke again.

"Smokescreen?"

"Yeah Prime?" The young soldier answered eagerly, "Anything I can do?"

"Find Bumblebee. He's been very distressed as of late."

"I've noticed," Smokescreen said, "I'll find right away Prime!"

"And don't leave him," Optimus said, "I'm afraid of what he might do."

"Whatever you say boss," Smokescreen said, a bit uneasy by the implication, "I'll let you know as soon as I find him."

"Thank you Smokescreen,"

"No problems. At least now I can use your orders as an excuse to bother him again," Smokescreen teased playfully, "Alright boss. I got a bee to catch."

Smokescreen drove off, leaving Optimus alone again. There were times when the young soldier was too eager and intrusive for comfort. But now, Optimus was grateful for it. If Bee didn't want to speak with him, then perhaps he would speak to Smokescreen.

"I'm sorry," Optimus said, his spark aching at the absence of his son, "I'm so sorry."

TBC

* * *

A/N: No beta, mistakes are all mine. Read and review please!


	2. Chapter 2

2

If there was one thing Smokescreen missed about Earth, it was the radio and the never-ending noise that went along with it. Music, prank shows, advertisements, frag even the late night calls made by paramours were much more welcome than the silence around him now. He'd been roving for miles without a sight or signal of Bumblebee, and the rolling crackle of his wheels against the rocky surface

Didn't the humans have a song like that?

"_Take it easy. Take it easy. Don't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazy,"_

Smokescreen laughed, recalling the tune Agent Fowler once blasted in the base. "I knew it! Humans have a song for everything."

He wondered if Bee missed the radio stations too. He knew that the yellow scout was fond of human music, that much info he gathered from Raff. Looking back, the human youngling probably felt a bit uneasy with Smokescreen's not-so-subtle questions about the scout. Smokescreen couldn't help it if he was curious. He knew he was as intrusive as they come, easily stepping into the boundaries of annoyance. But when Smokescreen had it set in his processor to understand a bot, then so be it.

And for a long while now, Smokescreen wanted to understand Bee a lot more. It had gone past the initial curiosity he had towards the odd little scout. The more he learned about Bee, the more elusive the scout was. Answers to questions became questions of their own. And Smokescreen hoped that Bee would be comfortable enough to finally share a bit of the truth in his own words.

After all Bee had his voice back. And with the whole saving Earth and restoring Cybertron thing between them, the blue bot was more than hopeful that Bee would give him a chance.

"Maybe we could start up the stations again," Smokescreen mused, "Get the feeds running. Wonder if Ratchet could send a copy of that terrible music Miko blasted in the base. Play it for the homecoming committee. Nah, that'll just launch everyone back into space. That stuff on Raff's and Jack's playlist though…yeah, that might be better. Bee liked that stuff."

He drove the rest of the night well into the new day, nothing but the sound of his own wheels and voice to keep him company.

"Frag Bee, did you sneak back to Earth or something, what gives?" Smokescreen tried to connect through the comm links. Seemed like Bee disabled his end of the connection.

His systems chimed in one by one, alerting him that he would need to refuel soon. Smokescreen checked the chronometer. He could just ask Arcee or Wheeljack to bridge him back to the construction site.

"Nah, can't go back without Bee," Smokescreen said, "Gotta have something good to report to Prime."

The strange thing was, there was nothing but good to report. The restoration project was well under way. Cybertronians were returning steadily home. Energon was being mined and refined with great success. The Cons…dear Primus, the Cons either defected or shrunk away into the far corners of the galaxy. All was well. Yet Optimus did not seem content.

Smokescreen sighed. Maybe content wasn't the word. Satisfied maybe? At ease?

"Happy," The young bot decided, "He doesn't seem happy."

The world hummed beneath him as the daylight flooded around him. He adjusted his speed, slowing down to rest at the edge of a cliff off the side of the road. Smokescreen transformed and walked over to the ledge, sitting down and letting his legs swing out like a playful sparkling.

"Looks like good old Jasper,"

As much as they reassured the kids back on Earth, even Smokescreen knew traveling back and forth would be difficult. It was light years away. If they could even afford to take long breaks from rebuilding their world in the first place. He sighed, took a small rock in his servo and threw it as far as he could, remembering how Raff and Jack would play a game similar to it in the base.

While this patch of desert mountains wasn't exactly like Jasper's desert, it would suffice as a temporary substitute.

Maybe Bee would like to see it. He could bring him out here, watch the sun rise and pretend that they were all on Earth again. Maybe he could play something off of Raff's playlist to make it feel more authentic.

_::Smokescreen. Where have you been?::_ The voice was gruff, irritated.

The young soldier tilted his helm to the side, as if to actually face the one speaking to him.

_::Hey Jackie:: _Smokescreen said _::Running a mission for Optimus. A search::_

_::Don't call me Jackie kid::_

_::Don't call me kid, Jackie::_

Wheeljack grumbled through the comm link

_::Return immediately. We got company coming::_

_::Oh? Cons or Bots? Are we gonna bring out the high-grade?::_

_::A ship's been detected, coming pretty fast into the planet's orbit. Signal checks out for an Autobot ship. Still gotta be careful about it though. Magnus is going scattered brained with all these damn safety protocols::_

_::Heh,::_ Smokescreen smiled _::You know, you two have been working too hard::_

_::Yeah and you don't work enough::_

An odd sight caught Smokescreen's optic. A ways below, there was a grove. And there in the grove, a thick stream of oil ran through. The smell was faint, sweet, sticking pleasantly to Smokescreen's olfactory sensors.

_::Alright Jackie. I'll report back as soon as I finish this…uh…mission::_

_::Watch it kid::_

_::Yeah, yeah, say hi to Magnus for me. Hey Jackie, ya think you two can put in a good word for me? There's this gorgeous place that kinda looks like Jasper. Kinda want Bee to see it. You and _

_Magnus should totally tag along::_

There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

_::First of all do not call me Jackie again:: _Wheeljack said _::Second of all it's a fragging miracle I haven't killed Magnus yet. Don't tempt me with an opportune time and place. And third of all, ya better hurry up if you want get closer to Bee. Rumor is everyone's going crazy for him. Cause, you know…war hero and all::_

_::Oh. Well thanks. I think::_

Wheeljack didn't even say bye before he closed the link. Smokescreen was slightly hurt by that. Fortunately, the sweet scent of the oil river quickly distracted him.

Smokescreen hopped quietly down, following the path of the stream. The bot then realized that several tiny streams seeped from the earth, crossing and pooling into larger portions of oil. He remembered, back before the war, when he was just a sparkling, of the famous oil baths of Iacon. The oils were imported from the wilderness, most of it mined deep from the earth before being refined and sent to the high-end treatment houses. The wealthy paid great money for a single bath. He recalled Arcee talking about the oil baths before. If Arcee of all bots appreciated it, then the experience had to live up to the hype.

He looked around, as if he were trespassing, and carefully scooted towards a larger pool. He dipped one of his pedals down, the dark oil surprisingly warm and smooth. He put the other pedal down, allowing his legs to sink. If was like falling into a thick pile of liquid silk. Or, at least, what he imagined silk would feel like.

His systems relaxed. He didn't realize how tired he actually once until he gave himself a chance to rest.

There was a splash somewhere in the distance.

"Hmmm?" Smokescreen waddled out of the pool. He shook off as much of the oil from him as he could and climbed quietly over the rocks.

His door wings flared out curiously when he peeked over a boulder to see a collection of pools interconnected with streams. And there, soaking in one of those pools was the ever elusive Bumblebee.

"Hey! Hey Bee!"

Smokescreen scrambled down, excited and relieved that he finally found the scout.

The yellow scout was shoulder deep in oil. He seemed tranquil, at peace. That was, until Smokescreen splashed down right beside him.

"Hey Bee! Where have you been? I mean, well…obviously you're here but why'd you give us a hard time tracking you down? You're supposed to be helping Bulkhead with the restoration project right? I heard that Arcee wanted to show you the old building where you were raised, you know, before the Cons blew it up."

Bumblebee's glaring look shut him up immediately. Smokescreen wanted to sink beneath the pool and ponder the wonder that was his rambling mouth.

There were many strange things about courtship Smokescreen did not understand. From his memory, traditionally the guild would dictate which bots should mate. Not that the war left any room for that. The humans were even more bizarre, having a disturbing practice of giving sweet morsels of food along with dead vegetation. How the two items were connected, Smokescreen had no idea. How the human recipients of such gifts could be so delighted over it was another mystery altogether. Especially when the pieces of floral vegetation just kinda…wilted and died.

Regardless, any one of those strange customs were probably more effective than his rambling words. Words that never ceased to annoy the very bot he as trying to impress.

"Uh…sorry about that," Smokescreen said, going over those three simple words over and over in his head to make sure it came out right.

Bumblebee stared at him, blue optics narrowed.

"Well, the real reason I'm here is cause Prime asked me to find you," Smokescreen said, scratching his own helm nervously, "He's worried. Asked me to talk to you."

The yellow scout turned away.

"But we can talk about anything! Anything you wanna talk about." Smokescreen quickly said, shifting so he was in front of Bumblebee, "I can go first…um…wanna hear a confession?"

Bumblebee lifted his helm up and blinked.

"I actually really like hearing you talk. Even when you're telling me to shut up," Smokescreen laughed, his anxiety blabbering through his voice, "I just like the sound you know?"

The yellow and black scout sighed heavily. Smokescreen didn't know exactly what to make of it. Bumblebee waddled away, the oil rolling off his body in thick drops.

"You know I uh…I always wondered what you were thinking all that time, back when your pipes were still messed up. Must have been frustrating." Smokescreen said, following Bumblebee through the pool, "I um—I would actually imagine what your voice would sound like, in my processor you know?"

Bumblebee stopped, the dark oil swishing around them.

"You imagined my voice?"

Smokescreen nodded sheepishly, relieved that Bee finally said something.

"Yeah, I do, um—did! I did." Smokescreen quickly corrected. He smiled, his nerves working overtime.

"That's very creepy," Bumblebee said softly, "As Raff would say."

Smokescreen, ever the optimist, shook off the slight insult.

"You must miss him," The former elite guard said, "I bet he misses you a lot too. I was thinking of asking Ratchet to get Raff to send a copy of the music he usually plays. Human entertainment is strange but it does kinda grow on you."

"Raff would be very busy," Bumblebee said, "With his studies and family."

"He's got a few siblings right?" Smokescreen kept on, knowing a hook for a conversation when he saw one, "He's lucky. I never had siblings. Never even knew my creators. Wish I did though. Alpha Trion said they were both part of the elite guard though. Uh, how about you? Did you ever have an idea about your creators?"

Bumblebee looked at him, as if deciding whether to answer or simply stride away again.

"No," Bumblebee said curtly, "And I never wanted to. Not as a sparkling and not now."

"Probably because you didn't have a reason to," Smokescreen replied.

The yellow bot relaxed against the edge of the pool.

"What do you mean?"

"All I mean is that you probably didn't look for them cause you were always cared for. You know I actually kinda envy you?"

Bumblebee actually laughed in reply. Smokescreen found that he liked that sound as well.

"Being dragged through a war-torn Cybertron, being beaten a spark-beat away from death and losing your vocalizer is hardly a life worth envying."

"You were dragged through a war by some of the best warriors in history!" Smokescreen made excited motions with his arms, his restless energy begging to be released somehow, "You knew Ironhide and Magnus personally. And you were saved from that beating by the best medic Cybertron has ever seen. And more than anything you got to grow up with the greatest hero of the Autobot cause, Optimus Prime himself."

Instead of lightening his mood, Smokescreen's bright words seemed to burden Bumblebee even more. His optics darkened, turning down to stare at the dark oil swirling around them.

"You know something truly strange?" Bumblebee said, "As a sparkling I had no idea just how high up all those mechs raising me were. Ironhide was just Hide, my training instructor, the mech that always advised everyone else on their weapons. Magnus was my confidant, not some commander. Ratchet was the one I ran to when I fell and scraped my knee.

Smokescreen wanted to reach out and touch Bumblebee's shoulder, nothing suggestive, just something to show his support. He thought better of it when Bee shifted away.

"We were family…just a family trying to survive the war. I had no idea how crucial they were until I got older…until it finally clicked that the world was a dying, desperate place. And I realized just how small I was compared to them."

"They didn't see that way," Smokescreen said, "At least I don't think so."

"They sheltered me," Bee continued, "Kept me out of the way. Trained me but never let me into the field until there was no other choice. And Prime—"

Bee's intakes drew a heavy, angry breath.

"I remember him being distant. Always watching me, asking others how I was. Very rarely did he ever speak to me as a child except to maybe correct my mistakes, and I made so many."

"He must have been busy," Smokescreen replied, "With the war and all."

"But I knew he wanted to be close. I could sense it. Whenever I fell ill as a sparkling, he was there, always beside me when I regained consciousness. When I asked him he would always deny it. He lied every time," Bee shook his helm, his vocals breaking, "I never understood why."

The scout laughed, the sound more bitter than joyous.

"I've spent so many cycles wanting to know why. When the answer finally came I spent the cycles wishing I never knew. Wondering how I missed it. Wondering all sorts of 'whys' and 'hows' and dreading the answers."

"I wish I knew what you meant Bee," Smokescreen said, trying to find words for once, "I really do—"

"I'm not asking you to," Bumblebee said, turning to face the other mech.

Smokescreen's spark pulsed deeply when he felt nimble fingers tracing the seams of his chassis, the touch slowly drawing up to the curve of his neck.

"Bee—"

"I don't want to think. I'd anything else other than think. I'll go insane if I do." Bumblebee said, pressing himself against Smokescreen's larger body. The scout's optics were wide, pleading.

"Bee, I can't—"

"Please," Bee breathed against his mouth, "Smokescreen…"

The blue mech caught his breath as Bumblebee's legs parted around him.

"Bee, no," Smokescreen stammered, though he made no move to stop the scout's motions, "You're not processing things clearly. This isn't you."

Smokescreen yelped as he felt the smaller mech's interface panel retract. Bumblebee sought Smokescreen's servo beneath the oil, and lead it down.

"You have no idea where I came from or who I am."

Smokescreen gasped as his fingers were swallowed in heat, smoldering, smooth, and deep.

"Should it even matter?" Bee rolled his hips, his blue optics flaring in pain as Smokescreen's fingers dove deeper into his folds. The shock of it radiated, spreading throughout his array, drawing out the sticky, hot fluids from his nodes. Fluids that only encouraged Smokescreen's digits to slide in further.

At that last thrust, the mech's fingers hit something hard and solid, and the small scout's optics clenched in pain from the touch.

"Primus!" Bumblebee bucked forward, bracing an arm around Smokescreen's shoulder as his pedals gave way.

Smokescreen quickly retracted his fingers, his senses returning rapidly to his processors.

"Your seal—" The blue mech was blabbering again, "I—uh—your seal—"

"So what of it?" Bumblebee snapped, almost defensively, "You've never broke one before?"

"It's not that," Smokescreen said, backing away, "This is happening way too fast."

"Too fast? Did you, of all mechs, just say that?"

"You're not thinking straight," Smokescreen pulled himself out of the pool before he could forgo his choice. He sent a location signal to their makeshift base, hoping that someone would reply immediately before he lost Bee again, "I'm contacting Prime and you're coming back to base."

"I'm not some sparkling Prime or anyone else can just pick up and drag wherever they please." Bumblebee's words cracked from the pressure, "Nothing you or anyone says will change that."

"We'll see," Smokescreen said, putting a servo up to stop Bee's advance. The scout was furious, his face narrow and crossed.

::Smokescreen!::

::Jackie? Hey, I found Bee. Get us a ground bridge. Right now::

::Ya got some perfect timing kid. You know what ship we were tracing? Finally landed:: Wheeljack chuckled ::Looks like Bee's gonna have a lot of explaining to do::

::What?::

::Tell the kid to open his comm links. Someone wants to talk to him::

::I don't think he's ready to talk to anyone. Ground bridge now::

::Ironhide kiddo:: Wheeljack said ::Tell him it's Hide. And better tell him to hurry up cause that old war-freak's got quite a lot to say::

* * *

TBC

A/N: I tried. *shrugs*


End file.
